


come back down to my knees, gotta get back (gotta get free)

by obsceme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Steve Harrington, Gross Hot, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Semi-Public Sex, Spit As Lube, That's it that's the plot, Top Billy Hargrove, and other things as lube, gross things, i have no idea how to tag this, this is literally just steve getting raw dogged by semi-flayed billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsceme/pseuds/obsceme
Summary: Billy is like, really gross. Steve likes that. Hereallylikes that. And honestly, what could it hurt to indulge a little?
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 38
Kudos: 473





	come back down to my knees, gotta get back (gotta get free)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyBaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/gifts).



> title is from life itself by glass animals. 
> 
> yeah, so. this is literally just an au where steve and the others weren't actually involved in the events of s3, and billy fought off the mind flayer himself. basically just 5k words of gross!billy royally giving it to steve in a fitting room at The Gap. highly unrealistic and obscenely unhealthy sex, so. don't try this at home, kids. 
> 
> inspired by the wonderful [granpappy-winchester](https://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/), who put this disgustingly beautiful idea into my head so thoroughly that i just had to do something about it. here's to pouring this one out for ya!

It’s around nine o’clock at night when Steve finally decides to take out the trash.

“I’ll be back in a few,” is all he says, his words cast in Robin’s direction. He shoulders the hefty garbage bag and makes his way down the mass of winding hallways. 

The loading bay is empty and silent, as it should be at this time of night. Steve tosses the trash bag into the dumpster adjacent to the door. Shivers a little. It’s an uncomfortably cold night for the summer - it makes Steve feel somewhat unsettled. Like there’s something brewing in the chilly night air, something he can’t see. 

Steve just stands for a moment. Listens. 

Nothing.

He doesn’t quite know if the empty, echoing nothingness makes him feel settled, or like a raw nerve. 

After everything that he’s endured in the last two years, silence can really only ever mean one of two things. That something’s waiting. Watching. Biding its time. Or, that there really _is_ nothing - that it’s just another quiet, cold night in Indiana, boring as ever. 

It has to be the second option. Because all of that with the former is done now. They closed the gate. Or El did, at least. No more conspiracies, no more monsters, no more death and destruction. It’s over, done.

Steve pulls a cigarette from his pack. Lights up with hands that only tremble a little.

It’s been happening a lot recently, the shaking. Even when the air doesn’t have an icy bite to it, he finds that the tremors come and go. They stick around a lot longer when he’s alone. The way his hands shake as he slips his Zippo back into the pocket of his sailor shorts is a testament to that.

He puffs on his cigarette once, twice. And then he hears it.

Footsteps.

Every hair on Steve’s neck stands on end. He whirls around wildly, eyes flitting in every given direction. But there’s nothing. Nothing but quiet stillness. His stomach churns. 

Steve squints into the darkness for another long moment. Nothing changes. It isn’t until he’s turning back around that a greasy hand covers his mouth, another wrapping around his waist and yanking him backward.

The noise that escapes Steve’s lips is stifled by the meat of his attacker’s palm. Although, he hasn’t been attacked yet, necessarily. Just tugged through the door of one of the emergency exits connected to a loading garage.

Steve squirms in the stranger’s grip. Finally gives up and just bites the palm covering his mouth. The person actually fucking _growls_ , and Steve is released. He spins around, blinking into the dimly-lit garage with big eyes. It takes them a moment to adjust.

“ _Billy_?”

Only - not quite. It’s Billy, but there’s something - something _wrong_. His hair is matted with sweat, blood, and what looks like oil, a black sludge that Steve doesn’t even want to know the true nature of. Black veins weave their way up every inch of exposed skin, like an intricate pattern. 

And it’s not just his hair that’s matted to hell - he’s covered, head to toe, in sweat and gore. Steve is pretty sure the tank top he’s wearing was originally white, but it’s impossible to tell at this point. 

Billy still hasn’t said anything. He’s just watching Steve like a hawk, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Both hands are clenched into fists by his sides.

“Billy, what - I mean, Jesus. The fuck happened to you?” Steve asks, taking a tentative step closer. Billy tenses, but doesn’t move. “Is that - oh my god, what the fuck - did you get _stabbed_? Jesus Christ, I’ll - let me get my keys, I’ll drive you to the hospital -”

Billy cuts him off, with nothing more than a semi-animalistic, “ _no_.”

Steve freezes in place, one hand still outstretched from where he was going to rest it comfortingly on Billy’s shoulder. He’s closer now, and can see some sort of internal battle being waged in Billy’s eyes. 

Like maybe Billy isn’t quite Billy right now. Almost as if he’s coming back to himself after being away for a long time, but he hasn’t quite gotten there yet. And he’s looking at Steve with this look. Like - like he’s something to be _devoured_. It makes Steve feel hot from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“What happened?” Steve asks, his voice nothing more than a hushed whisper. He lowers his outstretched hand. It shakes as he does.

Billy doesn’t speak for a long time. His throat works like he’s trying to get the words out. They seem to get stuck, his jaw clenched tight. And then, finally, “the shadow.”

A block of ice feels like it’s been deposited into the pit of Steve’s stomach. Because he _knows_. Billy doesn’t have to say much more than that. Steve knows exactly what fucking shadow he’s referring to.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers. “Let me - just let me look.” 

He steps closer, reaching out a trembling hand once again. Hesitates before brushing some of Billy’s mangy curls out of his eyes. His pupils are incredibly dilated, black veins covering every inch of exposed skin. Billy flinches away at first, then relaxes somewhat beneath Steve’s careful touch.

“It’s here,” Billy says, voice pitched low and rough. He’s tapping his temple with his index finger. “Almost gone. But still here.”

“I can get you help,” Steve tells him, his eyes flitting around Billy’s seemingly war-torn face. “I know people that deal with - with this stuff. I can take you to them.”

“ _No_ ,” Billy says again, his voice even firmer than the first time. “No one else. Just you.”

Steve makes a noise of protest. “Billy, I can’t - I’m not a doctor. You need _help_ -”

Billy pushes forward, so fast and aggressive that Steve stumbles backward, until his back hits a shelf filled with boxes. They all almost come crashing down around him. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when Billy crowds himself into his space, caging Steve in with his arms.

And God, Billy smells something fucking awful. Like sweat and blood and death. It’s disgusting. Steve should be repulsed, he should be shoving Billy away, he should be - well. He _shouldn’t_ be chubbing up a little in his stupid sailor shorts. He shouldn’t be letting Billy nose his way along Steve’s neck, breathing in harsh and deep, like Steve’s skin is the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever smelled.

“Billy, you’re not - you have to see a doctor, you’re not in your right mind, man,” Steve tries to tell him with a steady voice, but it comes out as more of a high-pitched whine. 

Which, like, what the fuck?

Since when the fuck did Steve have any thoughts about Billy Hargrove other than that he’s an egotistical prick with a mean streak a mile long? Since when did he care about what happens to Billy Hargrove in any capacity? Since when did he start getting hard in his shorts at the mere thought of Billy’s tongue on his skin?

Maybe it’s the layer of black grease covering Billy - maybe it’s some sort of aphrodisiac. Maybe it’s putting _Steve_ out of his right mind. Maybe it’s what’s filling his head with this thick fog of arousal.

Maybe Steve just can’t find it in himself to fucking care about anything when Billy sinks down to his knees, nosing along the hard line of Steve’s dick through his shorts.

“Pretty,” Billy pants, his hands holding fast to Steve’s hips, thumbing over the starchy material of his sailor shorts. Everywhere that Billy touches him is ruined, his clean, neatly-pressed uniform now covered in sludge and sweat and blood. 

It shouldn’t make Steve’s dick give an interested kick, but it does.

“Billy, wait -”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, because Billy stands again and presses the hard line of his body against Steve’s. Seals their mouths together in a kiss that should have Steve spitting up a little in his mouth. 

Because Billy tastes like blood and sweat, salty and bitter and just downright fucking gross. But instead of shoving him away, Steve feels like he can’t get close enough. He chases that taste, a little desperately, letting Billy lick into his mouth. Lets him suck on his fucking tongue, clutching at his shoulders to anchor himself.

“Want to touch you,” Billy trails off. One hand snakes up Steve’s shirt, fingers running through the soft hair of Steve’s chest. The other tugs on the collar of Steve’s uniform. “Like you in this. Pretty.”

Steve feels like he’s being set alight at every point of contact between his skin and Billy’s. But Billy keeps moving his hands away to run them over Steve’s uniform, eyeing it with a wild look. Like he wants to devour Steve whole.

Maybe he does. Steve thinks he might be okay with that.

“I should be taking you to the - _fuck_ ,” Steve cuts himself off when Billy pinches the hardened bud of one of his nipples, rolling it between his fingers. 

“Let me,” Billy orders suddenly, pinning Steve to the shelf once again. “Fuck you. Need to, you smell so good. Like - like vanilla. Need to come back.”

Steve thinks he sort of gets the gist of Billy’s stilted sentences. He’s not quite sure how Billy fucking him is going to fully free him from the Mind Flayer, but his cock his aching in his shorts and Billy is so fucking disgusting and Steve just wants to roll himself in it. Wants Billy to coat him in his filth. Maybe even wants Billy to take that filth and use it fuck him open with his fingers until Steve is begging for it.

The thought has a shiver running down Steve’s spine. 

“Do it,” Steve whispers, grinding himself down onto the thigh Billy has slotted between his legs. “It’s okay, c’mon. I want it. Want you.”

Billy, for a fleeting moment, looks unsure. Like maybe he knows this is a bad idea after all, that this is wrong on so many levels. But then Steve frees a hand from Billy’s grip, uses it to drag his fingers through the layer of filth covering his skin. Reaches that now-slick hand directly into his shorts and strokes himself lazily. It’s fucking gross and Steve is so goddamn hard that it hurts.

“Bed?” Billy breathes, tucking his face back into the space where Steve’s shoulder meets his neck. Licks and bites and sucks his way along his skin.

The situation is giving Steve whiplash. One minute he’s being dragged into a loading garage by a guy who looks like he’s just rose from the grave, trying to convince him to go to the hospital. The next, he’s got the very same guy sucking on his neck while begging to raw dog him to next Tuesday.

But honestly, Steve has never been the King Of Making Good Decisions. And Billy needs him, or so he thinks. Maybe Steve needs Billy, too. Maybe he has for a while.

A lot of maybes. Steve’s head is too full with them. So he shuts his brain off, reveling in the silence.

“This is a mall,” Steve finally answers, deadpan. 

Billy looks up at him, his eyes wide. Innocent, maybe? No, that’s not it. It’s more like - lost. Confused. _Scared_. Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. All he knows is he wants that look gone. He wants to _help_. Whatever form that takes, he’s game.

“Okay - okay. Um, let me - I have to go get my keys, yeah?” Steve tells him, chewing on his lip. “Means I gotta - I have to go upstairs. Just for a few minutes. Can you wait here?”

All he gets in response is a calculating look. Steve slips from Billy’s grip, walking backwards to the door, eyes on Billy the entire time.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

Steve darts up the stairs and swings open the door that leads back into the mall from the loading bay. Practically bolts down the winding hallways, crashing into the walls a few times along the way. Makes it back to Scoops in one piece, somehow.

“Steve? That you?” Robin calls, appearing in the break room with her hands firmly on her hips. “The fuck took you so long? I mean, not like you missed anything, but - _holy shit_. What the hell happened to you?”

Steve looks down at himself, then cringes. He looks worse than he’d thought. Billy’s thick layer of grime had rubbed off on him to an obscene degree. Not that he looks nearly as bad as Billy - but still.

“I don’t - um, never mind. It doesn’t matter. Could you, uh. Could you cover for me? I have to take, um. A... _friend_ to the hospital. Dude’s pretty messed up,” Steve asks, scratching the back of his head. 

Robin doesn’t look like she buys it. She’s eyeing the fresh bruise that Billy had sucked onto his neck. Still, she doesn’t ask questions.

“You owe me, Harrington. Have fun with your _friend_.” She winks, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Steve thanks her a thousand times, grabbing his keys and wallet before heading back in Billy’s direction. He’s making his way down the winding halls, staring down at his keys, when he faceplants into something sturdy and hard.

“What the fuck - Billy? Christ, man, I told you to stay put,” Steve sighs, shooting him an exasperated look. 

He has no idea how Billy managed to find him in these halls. Maybe by - what, by scent? It’s not possible. He’s pretty sure it’s not, but. Either way, the thought has Steve stiffening in his shorts once again. 

Billy just stares at him, hard. Crowds Steve up against the wall again, nipping at his jaw. Whining low in his throat. “Missed you. The way you smell.”

“The way I smell?” Steve laughs. No, _giggles_. Billy, despite the horrifying state he’s in at the moment, has still reduced Steve to a giggling, blushing schoolboy. Interesting. “What’s with you and the way I smell? Am I a breath of fresh air from yourself?”

“You smell sweet. Like sugar. ‘S good,” Billy murmurs. Buries his face into Steve’s hair, breathes in deep. 

Goosebumps erupt across Steve’s skin. He holds fast to Billy’s biceps, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds. He makes a mental note to take care of those as best as he can with his first aid kit later. 

“C’mon, we gotta take this back to my place,” Steve insists, pushing at Billy gently. 

“Too far.”

Next thing Steve knows, Billy is pulling him by the arm. Practically marching down the dimly lit halls, Steve in tow. 

“Billy, where’re you taking me?” Steve questions, barking out a disbelieving laugh. “How d’you even know where you’re going?”

Billy doesn’t answer. Just continues his determined march down the halls, before making a sudden right, kicking the door before them open with ease before shoving Steve through. It’s a clothing store, but Steve can’t tell which one. The Gap maybe? They all look the same at this point. He’s dragged through racks of bright colors and bold prints. Billy is on a fucking mission.

Steve feels his stomach swoop when Billy manhandles him into one of the fitting rooms. The fluorescents aren’t on, but the neon lights are bright and cast the room in an ethereal glow. 

And then they’re both inside, Billy locking the door behind him. For a moment, they stand there, staring at each other. Billy’s dilated eyes roving over Steve’s uniform, looking hungry. Steve’s dick strains against his shorts, the sight of Billy’s sweat and filth catching the neon lights making his throat run dry.

Steve’s head makes a soft _thunk_ when it makes contact with the door of the fitting room. Billy seals their mouths together once again, practically fucking Steve’s mouth with his tongue. Steve can’t do anything other than hang on for dear life, rutting his hips up against Billy’s.

“Billy - fuck. We don’t even - we don’t even have, like, lube,” Steve pants out when Billy moves to bite and suck at his earlobe. “Or whatever.”

Billy glances at the line that Steve’s fingers had made on his skin after dragging through the thick layer of grime earlier, then back up at Steve. “Don’t need it.”

And Steve? Steve just fucking loses all sense. Moans like a bitch in heat, yanking Billy closer by his hips and grinding their cocks together. Bites Billy’s bottom lip, the salty taste of sweat lingering on his tongue. Too many layers of clothes are in the way, and Steve huffs out a frustrated sigh.

“Clothes,” he grumbles against Billy’s lips. “Off.”

“No. Not - not you,” Billy pants, his fingers curling around the material of Steve’s sailor shirt. “This. Stays on.”

“What, this? You like _this_?” Steve asks, incredulous, giving his uniform a distasteful look. “I look like a party store threw up Halloween on me.”

“No,” Billy repeats, palming Steve’s aching length through his shorts. His lips are still pressed to Steve’s, but they aren’t really kissing at this point. Billy’s just panting into his mouth, hot and wet and making Steve think of all the other places his mouth could be. “Gonna fuck you in this. Make you scream my name in this.”

Steve lets out this little broken noise at that. Billy has ruined him and he’s hardly even touched his dick yet. With not another second to be wasted, Billy sinks to his knees. Yanks Steve’s shorts and boxers down just enough to allow his cock to spring free, and then Billy’s mouth is on him. The desperate moan that escapes Steve’s mouth should be embarrassing, but it happens again, and again, and again. He finds that he can’t be too embarrassed by it after that.

It feels like Heaven, pure and simple. Steve’s knees almost buckle out from under him. His cock fits perfectly in Billy’s mouth, like it was made just for him. Steve watches it slip between his lips with wide eyes, his abdomen clenching every time Billy hollows his cheeks on the upstroke. 

Billy’s lips are normally cherry red, almost unbelievably so. But right now, they’re coated in black. The veins still spider their way up his face. Fading, but still there. He’s - he shouldn’t be so fucking gorgeous. Even like this - _especially_ like this, mangy and greasy and beyond nasty - Billy steals the breath right from Steve’s lungs. 

Steve tangles his fingers in Billy’s matted curls. Curls that are somehow greasy and crunchy at the same time, locks tangled together with blood and dirt and things Steve won’t even begin to try to name. The feeling of it between his fingers is just - it’s a lot. He can’t help but wonder how it’d feel deeper between his thighs.

Billy curls his fingers around the base of Steve’s dick, working as much of him as he can with his mouth. He focuses on the tip, lapping the pre-cum beading there with broad strokes of his tongue before swallowing him back down. Steve feels himself breach the back of Billy’s throat, and he swears his eyes fucking roll all the way back into his head.

“Eat me out,” Steve blurts, tugging on Billy’s hair gently. “I mean, if you - _shit_ , Billy - if that’s something you want to -”

“Turn around,” Billy cuts him off, his voice a low growl. The shining tip of Steve’s cock is still resting at his lips, Billy’s hand fitted around the base. “Now.”

Steve doesn’t waste any time when Billy releases him, spinning around and jutting his ass directly in Billy’s face. Billy, for one, doesn’t seem to mind. He just tugs Steve’s shorts over the plump curve of his ass, just enough to give him room to get his face right where he wants it.

Billy doesn’t waste any time digging in, either. He spreads Steve’s cheeks with grimy hands, leaving blackish-red fingerprints in their wake. The first touch of Billy’s tongue makes Steve jerk back in surprise, inadvertently burying Billy’s face deeper into his ass. This doesn’t seem to be a problem for Billy. 

It’s certainly not a problem for Steve.

Billy takes his time working Steve open with his tongue, first swiping these soft little kitten-licks over his hole, the soft puff of his breath causing Steve to undergo one long, extended shiver. When Billy sucks at his rim, Steve has to clutch at the wall with both hands, sweet little moans spilling from his lips.

“ _Fuck_ , Billy,” Steve whines, his hips canting backward. “Baby, don’t - don’t stop.”

He can feel Billy’s grin. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

The vibrations from Billy’s voice send the remainder of Steve’s blood straight to his cock. He moves to wrap a hand around himself, but it’s slapped away almost immediately.

“No,” Billy says, voice firm. “Not gonna cum like this. Only from me.”

“This is - motherfucking _fuck_ \- this is you,” Steve reminds him, his words punctuated by throaty moans. “All you. You - God. You feel so fucking good.”

Billy bites down onto the meat of one of Steve’s cheeks, making him yelp in surprise. It’s followed by a heated groan, Steve’s hips bucking of their own accord. He whines again, this time in the form of Billy’s name. Moaning hot and wanton into the still, quiet air of the fitting room.

One last firm stroke of his tongue over Steve’s pucker, and then Billy is rising to his feet. He crowds up against Steve, undulating his denim-clad hips against Steve’s ass. He leans in close, speaking directly into Steve’s ear.

“My cock,” Billy tells him, low and gravelly. “Gonna make you cum with just my cock, pretty boy.”

Steve arches against him, heat flooding his face and chest at the familiar praise. “Then fucking get on with it, Hargrove.”

A sharp yelp fills the air, coming from deep within Steve, when Billy bites down on his pulse point. Hard enough to draw blood. “‘S not my name.”

“What? That’s literally your -”

Billy wraps a hand around Steve, giving him a rough tug. His palm is drier than before, rougher. The drag burns, but Steve pants out a harsh moan. “‘S not my fuckin’ name.”

Steve doesn’t get it, nor does he get a chance to answer. Because in the next moment, Billy has two fingers shoved into Steve’s mouth with an order to _suck_. His hands are fucking nauseating. Or, rather, they should be. Steve’s mouth floods with the metallic taste of blood, the salty flavor of sweat, and something tangy and bitter that he still doesn’t have a name for.

His skin smells like fucking death. And yet Steve sucks on his fingers like they’re water and he’s dying of thirst. Practically fucking slurps on them - the way he probably would if it were Billy’s cock between his lips instead. It’s almost as good. Billy’s fingers are thick and warm, spread evenly over his tongue. 

Steve licks between his fingers. Coats them in a thick layer of saliva. When Billy pulls them free from his mouth, a string of spit connects his fingers to Steve’s lips. 

“Gonna fuck your pretty hole open with my fingers,” Billy purrs in his ear, sounding a lot more like himself than he has in hours. But also - not. Because there’s still this primal undercurrent, this animalistic tinge that seeps deep into Steve’s bones. “Then I’m gonna split you open on my cock.”

“You gonna keep talking about it, or are you gonna get to it sometime today?” Steve huffs, twisting his head to glance at Billy. Trying to mask his desperation for what Billy has just promised him.

Billy’s smile is slow and predatory when his finger suddenly breaches Steve’s spit-slick hole. All the air rushes from Steve’s lungs, a string of curses falling from his lips. Because Billy’s fingers _are_ thick. Just the one is a stretch, accompanied by a burn that sends sparks shooting up Steve’s spine.

He takes his time with this too, spreading Steve open on his fingers. One becomes two, Billy working them deep, searching for something. That spot that Steve has heard about, in passing conversations like some sort of urban legend. He’s on the hunt, scissoring and curling his fingers sweet and slow. 

When Billy withdraws, Steve makes a noise of protest. “What the fuck do you think you’re - oh. _Oh_ , fuck.”

Billy drags his fingers, shiny with saliva, through that disgustingly hot layer of dirt and grime and sweat. Coats them in it, his eyes locked with Steve’s all the while. When his fingers slide back in, pushing past the swell of his rim, Billy gives them an almost expert curl.

That elusive spot, the one Billy’s been looking for a little desperately, suddenly makes itself known. And yeah, Billy wasn’t lying. Because Steve does shout out Billy’s name, several times in a row, one hand flying back to grab Billy’s free one in a vice-like grip. With Billy’s fingers stroking over his prostate, torturously slow, he sees stars. 

“Billy, fucking shit,” Steve gasps out, rutting back against the fingers working deep inside of him. “More, baby, please. I need _more_.”

“So good,” Billy murmurs in his ear. Bites down on the soft patch of skin just beneath it. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

“Only to you,” Steve pants, his voice hitching when Billy slips a third finger inside. His hole flutters around the intrusion, his breath coming out in short bursts.

“Not only _to_ me,” Billy bites out, firm on his stance. “Only _for_ me.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. Nor does he know what to do with the way his heart squeezes at those words. So he pushes back on Billy’s fingers instead, working himself down until he’s practically riding them.

“Fuck me,” Steve breathes, squeezing the hand that still rests heavy in his. “‘M ready, c’mon.”

The fingers working him rub slow circles over his prostate, punching the breath from his lungs once again. Then, they’re withdrawing. Billy steps back, undoing the button of his jeans. Tugs down the zipper. Steve cranes his head to watch, his eyes lidded and hazy with lust. 

Billy doesn’t even pull his jeans down, just slips them low enough that he can withdraw his cock. Steve wants to touch, so he turns around and lets himself indulge. He steps close, right into Billy’s space, wrapping a hand around him. Gives a few experimental tugs. Billy’s eyelids flutter shut, breathing sharply through his nose. His cock is thick and flushed deep red, the tip leaking like a fucking faucet. 

Steve never would’ve thought he’d be thinking the words _dick_ and _pretty_ in the same sentence, but, well. Here he is. Because Billy’s dick is incredibly pretty, and Steve can’t help but think about how pretty it’ll look stuffed deep inside of him.

Running his fingers through the mess coating Billy skin, Steve gets his palm nice and slick with it. Wraps it around Billy’s cock, slicking him up. Removes his hand and spits on it before returning it to its rightful place, mixing his saliva with Billy’s grunge.

And then he’s turning around. Using both hands to spread himself open, letting his eyelids flutter shut in anticipation. Billy places one hand on Steve’s hip, using the other to guide his cock into his hole.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve moans, gut-punched and wrecked in every way. 

Billy slides into him, inch by inch. It’s a tight fit, it leaves Steve breathless and has tears pricking in his eyes. But there’s also a small fire burning in his gut, spreading through him with a rapidly increasing intensity. 

“Fucking hell, Stevie,” Billy grunts, bottoming out with a relieved sigh. “So fuckin’ tight. All for me.”

The possessive nature of his tone has a shudder running right through Steve. He clutches at the hand fixed on his hip, his hole clenching sweetly around the cock currently splitting him open. 

“Yes, yeah - fuck. All yours,” Steve whines, his head pitching forward. His forehead hits the wall in front of him. “Move. Please, fuck - need to feel you.”

He doesn’t have to ask a second time. Billy withdraws almost completely, before surging back inside with a force that knocks Steve up against the wall. Steve cries out, pleas for more getting lost in the quiet space of the fitting room. Billy drives inside of him relentlessly, grunting and moaning in time with his pace. The sounds he’s making, wild and animalistic, have Steve’s toes curling in delight.

“Yeah?” Steve gasps, his lungs short on oxygen. “Fuck me, just like that. Billy, baby, _fuck_.”

Billy slams home, the slap of their hips meeting a harsh echo in the quietness of the room. “Goddamn, princess. Taking my cock so fuckin’ good. Gonna make you ruin those pretty little shorts, baby.”

Steve nods desperately, begging Billy for more. For _harder_ and _faster_. Billy does nothing short of that, fucking Steve so good he can feel it everywhere. In his toes, his fingertips, behind his eyelids, in his fucking teeth. He’s vibrating with it, everything inside of him tensing and coiling tight.

He wants to touch himself. Thinks about what Billy said, about making him cum with just his cock. And Steve _wants_. He wants that so fucking badly that he’s buzzing with it. Steve is so fucking close he can taste it, with every harsh thrust of Billy’s cock. It’s just out of his reach.

“Talk to me,” Steve begs, sweat beading on his forehead. It drips down his temples and mats his hair to his head. “Need to hear your voice.”

“Look at you,” Billy breathes, slowing his pace. Pushing himself deeper, as deep as he can go. Rocks up into Steve, stroking over that sensitive spot deep inside of him that makes his whole body tense and shake. “Taking my cock so well. You’re doing so fuckin’ good for me. Letting me fuck you open with my sweat and spit, split open with nothing but me. You like that, baby? You like being stuffed full like this?”

Steve stutters out a half-choked moan, wound tight. “Fuck, Billy. ‘M so close, I can’t - I’m gonna -”

“Cum for me,” Billy orders, a directive that Steve follows without protest. “Be good and cum for me.”

His cock fucking _weeps_. Steve cries out Billy’s name, mixed with a series of nonsensical words and phrases. He cums so hard he’s pretty sure he sees fucking God himself, his ears ringing with white noise. Billy is still pounding into him, Steve's cock spurting thick white ropes with each press of the cock inside of him. 

Steve shakes. He can hardly hold himself up, the aftershocks of his orgasm still rolling through him, his body twitching. Overstimulated. Billy fucks into him harder, losing his rhythm. Grunts out Steve’s name before spilling inside of him, a broken whine following. Steve can feel Billy filling him up, warm and wet and locked safe inside by the cock still stuffed snugly inside of him.

Neither of them move for a long moment. They just stand there, the wall mostly supporting Steve’s weight, Billy holding the rest while still somehow draping himself over him, cheek resting at the point where Steve’s spine meets his neck. 

Steve squirms after a moment, the soreness starting to make itself known. Billy takes the hint, gently slipping himself free from Steve’s body. Even though he’d asked for it, Steve still whines at the loss. He can hear Billy securing his jeans back around his hips, and a moment later Billy’s hands are soft against his ass, pulling his shorts back up. 

It should be gross, feeling Billy’s cum dripping out of him, into his boxers. Steve is surprised to find that it’s not. He actually feels the urge to keep these underwear somewhere safe and secret, as fucking gross as that is. This is all Billy’s doing, reducing Steve to nothing more than a filthy animal with no regard for health or cleanliness. He can’t find it in himself to care.

“You okay?” Billy asks after a moment, his voice startlingly soft.

Steve turns, blinking at him with a lazy grin spread across his lips. “I should be asking you that.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ smartass.”

The black veins are gone. Billy’s pupils are still dilated, but to a normal degree and for obvious reasons. It actually fucking worked. Steve helped him fuck the Mind Flayer right out of himself, and he can’t help but feel a visceral sense of pride at that.

“You’ve had a lot going on tonight,” Steve finally says after a long stretch of silence. “Do you - um. You wanna come back to my place? For real this time?”

“Desperate for it again already?” Billy asks, arching one brow. His smirk should be infuriating. It’s not. “Sheesh. Give a guy a minute, will ya?”

Steve lurches forward, frogging Billy right on the shoulder. “To get you cleaned up, you dick. Those wounds are gonna go septic.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say, princess.”

Steve groans, shoving Billy towards the door. “Oh my god, I hate you. I liked you better when you were possessed.”

“Yeah, yeah. You keep telling yourself that, pretty boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [hartigays](https://hartigays.tumblr.com/)


End file.
